With Jade Green Eyes
by cybErdrAgOn
Summary: The great wars were a turning point, bringing Sauron down and establishing a series of new heroes. But one elven maiden has been searching for something more, and her quest may lead her to another path...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Anything which you recognize as yours or of another author's is not mine.

Introduction

On a hillside facing the forests near a glorious Elven city was once an infant swaddled in silk, gazing up at an azure sky. 

She made no sound and stirred not a limb, but merely lay there in full view of predator and prey, friend and foe.

An Elven Rider, tall and fair, found the child and in her right hand, a note that read simply, "Farewell, my Sarelaine." He took her astride his graceful mount and returned to the city that day with a strange tale for those who would listen.

The great family of Renswoth accepted her as theirs and raised her to become a maiden of Rivendell. Through the great wars she grew in mind, body, and spirit, playing with the other children, absorbing mysterious tales from the elders. 

It was like this the girl matured, carefully cultivating stands of her own while simultaneously following obediently the commands of the leaders. But a burning desire to not only conceal behind a mask, but to _become_ a separate entity grew inside her, to shake off the supporting hands on her shoulders. It flared up at times when she was alone and eventually culminated at the conclusion of the wars.

By then she had the straight black hair and smooth, fair complexion of a refined Elven princess, yet also possessed the heart of a chained panther, waiting for the right moment. As the heroes returned to their homes, with them came a stranger, none of which the likes had been seen before. He offered her much, bidding her follow to his glorious home if she accepted. 

She did.

Leaving only a note written in a fine sloping hand, the maiden stole from the night cover of darkness to begin a journey that would shape her soul. Sometimes it was hacked into shape, occasionally molded with gentle hands, but above all, the path brought her to a race of elves that found their livelihood in the trees, bushes, and hills. Here she learned the arts of archery, disguise, riding, and blending into one with the surroundings, among other time-honored crafts. Then just as suddenly as before, the dark-haired elf was gone, leaving a note that showed her hope that they would remember forever "the maiden with jade green eyes".

With jade green eyes.

With jade green eyes she watched the world in its magnificent splendor and its minute detail. With jade green eyes she saw the target, prepared to run. The same jade green eyes.

It has been said that every life has a tale to spin. My name is Sarelaine, and this is my story.

AN: This is the first time I have dared to venture into the elite echelon of LoTR writers, so before I continue, I want three to five reviews-flames, critiques, praise, whatever, ok? *smiles sweetly* Oo, it's considered scary for me to smile sweetly, oh well.


	2. Chapter One: The Winding Road

_To hear, to see, to feel is not to know; that right has been reserved for the wise alone._

_-cybErdrAgOn_

Chapter One: The Winding Road

For miles the trail ran through the countryside, through hill and valley, forest and meadow. It passed through towns and fen, over river and stream, unrelenting in its stretching travels. And for just that long, I walked the road silently, praying for a destination after not much more of the endless walking. For I owned no mount, having left many homes in the dark of night, but knew the greatest quest of all, that which I was currently a part of.

At one point the road became little more than a deer trail through the underbrush, blurry, indistinct, almost one with the forest floor itself. And still I followed with dagger on belt. There was no turning back and no more facing the past, the past I had so carefully left behind. I am an Elf, it is true, but neither leader nor helpless sheep, but a solitary wraith meandering through the webs of life. 

There is no turning back, only that which lies before me.

I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the wood elves I had resided with for a brief period, in that time learning their crafts, lore, and life as my feet padded through the layers of fallen leaves without a sound. The time wasted there had been well spent after all, if not necessary. One cannot travel far or fast on the brink of death, it has been said. For now, though, I am content to slip through the forests, more welded into its very framework than the woodland creatures themselves.

A fold of dark green clothing snagged on a branch, so I paused briefly to undo the catch before the twig broke with an all too conspicuous crack. There is a quiet delight in traveling the land unseen and unheard, treading carefully between the mirrors of silence. Once shattered, only the ignorant have difficulty in locating one's whereabouts. I know, I learned from the elves in the northern forests. They were good and loving but so innocent and unseeing, despite their very potent powers. Like all other settlements, leaders there have oppressed the true potential instead of unleashing it carefully upon the world. It is a veritable crime to deny what is rightfully theirs.

As I rounded the bend, I came upon a little brook that had been interjecting every thought for the past few minutes with a gentle tinkle-splash. Gratefully I lay down my meager pack and lowered my head to the water and took a drink. Water is a driving force, therefore to bow to it is no dishonor-I will bow willingly to no man.

After taking my fill of the cool, sweet stream I opened a canteen and filled it, not knowing how long it would be before I found another water source. Then capping it shut, I rose from the ground and continued walking at a course roughly perpendicular to the brook, over a few stones in the middle, and disappearing once more. At once I sensed something different about this stretch; although the leaves were green, they were a shaded, intense color, and it was silent. Utterly silent.

Suddenly I stepped off the barely-trodden dirt path and turned myself laterally toward the road. Now I was only another sliver of green in a forest, lying in silent wait. I was waiting for he who had initiated such a foreign peace.

"So, you have come after all." Startled, I whirled around to find a knife at my throat and a cloaked figure before me. It was the stranger who had been a muse, an inspiration of sorts, and now he was to kill? No, not to kill. The cool logic took over then, for which I was eternally grateful.

"Yes, I am here. Do you have all that you offered?" My own voice was surprisingly strong but my heart was weak and my knees wanted to give out. But that would not do, especially before this man who seemed so familiar, yet so distant.

The cloaked stranger merely nodded and said in the same cold, objective tones, "Then follow me." He glided away until reaching the end of the path, then turned almost the opposite direction. I ran lightly after him and searched for his footprints at the sharp change of directions.

There were none. This stranger left no footprints that even an eye trained by wood elves could detect.

Mystified, I continued until he halted abruptly, and looking up, I saw why. In front was an enormous castle made of a polished black stone, smooth and seamless. It rose straight up to the now visibly darkened sky, and I wondered why I had not spotted it before. The mighty column of black was so conspicuous in such a landscape, but there was no time to make either comment or question. He nodded again and waved his hands in the air, and suddenly, we were flying up, presumably inside the castle itself

When the colors stopped swirling around me I was on a perfectly smooth floor hundreds of feet up in the air. I stood up shakily and walked forth, but the stranger held out a restraining hand. 

"She is here, Master," he intoned softly and nodded once more at me. I stepped closer to the front of the room, only to be interrupted by his voice. This time, it was a command.

"Kneel to our Lord."

I paused for a moment trying to decide whether to comply. The years of training at home spoke of complying, but the years spent on the road shouted more strongly. They explained that submission was an unnecessary evil when I spoke to the master of the castle.

"No," said I in a soft, cool voice, and lifted my eyes for the first time to the throne where He sat.

The lord chuckled softly, his laughter humorless and cajoling. "Do as I say," said the one who had led me here hurriedly. "You will not want to know the consequences."

Before I had a chance to even open my mouth, the lord lifted a hand and smiled. "No, no, there is no need to beg. For I alone, teach." And with that, a long white hand snaked out to his staff and pointed it at my proud figure defying his will.

I saw the white-blue jet of light as it left the head of the staff and rolled to the side in instinct. But it followed me, somehow, and when I stopped rolling, it hit my stomach with a terrifying jolt. The first spark of pain spread throughout my body, all-consuming, leaving me little energy even to scream. I felt as if from outside my limbs twitch in agony, my lower lip being bitten through, and green eyes rolling back in my head. Oh lord, even life like this wasn't worth it, I thought, an otherworldly scream rolling out from my lips. It was surreal; nothing in training had prepared me for this sort of torturous white-hot agony, knives driving through my flesh—

And it was all over, and I was on my hands and knees, desperately gasping for breath. Shakily I spat out a mouthful of coppery blood and rose to a knee, then two moccasined feet when he directed the staff at me once more. This time it hurled me across the smooth floor, back and forth, until I was immediately before his feet. Every muscle had been bruised and battered, every inch of my mind willing my body to stand before him and shout defiance.

But that would be folly when approached with an opponent so much stronger, so I shifted onto one knee and bowed my head, feeling all too well the blood trickling slowly from various cuts on my face. Someone coughed lightly just then, the lord of the castle no doubt, who asked me in a dangerously gentle voice to look at him, not just of him. 

I did. The sight that greeted my unwilling features was exhilarating even through eyes blurred over by unshed tears. He was a man of ordinary height, nothing spectacular there, but his robes-how the robes were made! They were glistening white, many iridescent hues reflected in the folds, giving him the appearance of one who had just stepped from the court of the sun. When he lifted an arm, or even a finger, the swirls of color changed ever so slightly, enough to show that here was a special man. Now I knew.

"Good, good," he purred. "Shadowman, you were right." To me he dictated, "From now you will refer to my loyal servant as Master Shadow and to myself as simply My Lord. I will instruct you in all you need to know for a favor in exchange. Is that accepted?"

I stared at him as unbefitting a noble Elven maiden and shook my head, halting every second from the excruciating pain. The man smiled like one might at a prisoner and continued carelessly, "You were in search of something special, no? Here it is, and it is you who turns opportunity away. Very well then, here you shall stay." Then he stood up and turned to leave, but not before I called out.

"No," I whispered hoarsely. "I have changed my mind, and I accept your offers."

He spun around inch-by-inch and met my eyes with his own glittering black ones. For a minute he almost rejected it all, but the eyes, those jade green eyes… "Now you understand," said the man coldly. "There is work to be done, which will begin tomorrow. For now, you may exit the tower by way of the stairs," here he waved a hand and spiraling steps appeared in the center of the room, if it may be called such, "since a room has already been prepared. What is your name, by the way?"

"Sarelaine Riverwood," I replied, finally having managed to stand on my own feet again. But he was already gone.

AN: Thanks to the person who reviewed, I really do appreciate it. Obviously no one likes to critique prologues, which I understand, so here is the first real chapter. 

Please review: Flames are accepted, praise welcomed, and criticism direly needed. Also if you have time, please review my other fanfics.

L8er,

-cybErdrAgOn


	3. Chapter Two: Alone

Chapter Two: Alone

The foremost thought running through my labyrinth of a mind was that of disgust. Bowing was unheard of unless the one I served was truly stronger, more powerful, or better…was dark sorcery justified by the eternal thirst for power? Or was that entirely irrelevant to my current state? Hatred of the purest, most deadly kind was coursing through my heart, willing, no, compelling me to rise once more and face the morrow.

And then my legs shook, and I collapsed to the ground.

* * * * *

When I awoke, opening tired eyes slowly, the black marble had become a slate gray. I lifted my head off the ground to survey the surroundings momentarily but sank to the floor soon enough. I had not the strength to accomplish any more than listen and watch.

But all was silent and not even shadows crossed the room, so finally, I forced aching legs to stand and leaned against the walls. Something was not right here. Suddenly the wall gave way and I nearly fell through before clawing at the section beside it, terrified. As soon as I managed to hold onto it, it too disappeared. I took a step shakily toward the center of the room and was relieved when it held firm.

The room, the castle, everything in this stretch of woods sizzled with magic. The walls? Nothing but a hologram, or a mirage, depending on which way one chose to view it. Therefore by this train of thought, I was little more than a prisoner trapped behind a smooth marble gate.

There was nothing more to be done except obey though I hated unyielding obedience. Slowly I limped over to the stairs, straightening my back as much as possible, and descended cautiously. They spiraled down like a coiled scorpion, ready to spring, with pincers reaching out on every level. Dimly lit by jewel green torches, an aura of mystery surrounded the chambers, much more than necessary. The entire castle gave off ominous waves to the instincts.

I lost track of the floors around the fifth or sixth and they became a single, corkscrewed room sealed off in the middle as so to allow others to pass through. Completely regretting my resolve, I walked and walked and walked, nearly walking past my room when my eyes caught a flash of gold and stopped. Just underneath the torch was a small brass nameplate; deeply etched into it were the words Sarelaine Riverwood, Guest. They glowed, lit by a fire within the metal itself, and the polish accentuated it even more. I smiled wearily as realization dawned upon my exhausted mind.

My hand went out to the smooth stone door but only to find no doorknob. Then a deep, resounding voice spoke that echoed off the single continuous hall.

"I see that there is a new resident, is there not?"

"Yes," I said simply, trying to hide the quaver in my voice. But it must have noticed, could not have missed the nervous tremble when it spoke again.

"If you are the rightful one, pull the finger of your right hand down lengthwise," it intoned. "The door shall pass judgment…and if you are a mere imposter, you shall observe the events to occur."

Hearing this, I drew my milky white, right index finger down the almost glassy surface. And nothing happened. There was no auspicious creaking of hinges, nor a booming voice crying out for punishment. Then the door began dissolving away to reveal a decently sized bedroom, my room.

The door had been no Dwarven creation, I was sure of that. They were never quite so subtle, preferring motion, or spells, or the recognition of faces. No, it was either a work of human sorcery or else the accursed goblins, who stole and never gave, learned but never taught.  But here I digress; what becomes more important is the chamber I had been left to.

It was not extravagantly furnished, but then again, I needed little of the Lord's luxuries, having slept on the springy moss and crunchy leaves for the past few weeks. A crooked smile cracked open chapped lips, and I tripped over and flopped down upon the bed. The last object I saw before shutting the eyelids was a blurred but smooth emerald green sea of the top of the canopy bed, matching the drapes exactly. And then I knew no more in a deep, undisturbed sleep.

* * * * *

When my eyes opened again I found that it was evening already, so I rose from the bed and strolled around the room. A closet had been stocked with clothing, and I slipped on a straight white dress. It flowed nicely around the ankles, though it also gave me a sort of constraining feeling…the feeling that I was, once again, trapped in the house of the unknown. I fingered the hem of the sleeve a bit nervously, then shoved my feet into plain moccasins. How simple it was to play the part of an aristocrat given the proper accessories, but how many people failed in dismal times was an unspecified number…

Gliding around the room, I took a few moments to gaze down at my reflection on the polished marble floor and smiled. By the lady I was beautiful like I had never been before, though beauty didn't seem to matter here. No, only ability mattered in this castle, and that fact translated neatly into my future demise. It was so pathetic not to know anything beyond what others had taught; while a helpful start, eventually it was not enough. 

Eventually one must learn from deep within.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the deep recesses of the great marble structure, followed by the same deep resounding voice I had heard earlier. "Our Lord wishes you to join him for supper," it breathed none too softly. "You dare not refuse."

Sighing, I walked over to the door and was mildly surprised to step through a solid wall, like I had seen Him do before. But it was not as surprising as I may have believed, perhaps; wood elves are generally not accustomed to higher magics or those beyond forest craft.

I swept down the winding staircase, more confident that eventually I would arrive at my destination. At the foot of the steps, Master Shadow stood and beckoned me closer until I was nearly stepping on the hems of his cloak. He smiled humorlessly and glided away to a large doorway, ushering me through before entering himself.

So this was the dining hall.

AN: Ok, this sucked major ass, but I'm getting a little stuck and finding LoTR impossibly hard to write if I'm not in the perfect mood…which doesn't come along very often after getting 5 hours of sleep a night for two weeks. Well, please review anyway, and hopefully look forward to a better chapter.

L8er,

-cybErdrAgOn


	4. Chapter Three: Learning to Live

Chapter Three: Learning to Live

The banquet hall was a suitably grand, elaborately furnished room for this "Lord" to take his meals in, though it seemed to be a rare occasion that it was actually used. Covering the long table was a shimmering white cloth that fell to the marble floor like water, and lining it were china plates and crystal goblets of burgundy wine. Dishes I had never before seen were placed in two rows, their cool, refreshing scents wafting over to the doorway where I stood.

I was hungry, truly hungry for the first time in my life.

And then, at the head of the table, sat the Lord upon a sort of jewel-encrusted throne. He bowed his head in deep thought, then lifted it to Master Shadow and nodded, ever so briefly. Master Shadow nodded toward me and guided me to the chair at the other end of the table, which faced the white-robed man directly. Perfect, I was sitting so far away, yet near enough to feel whatever wrath he could incur.

For a moment I gazed at a point behind his head before he gave me a look that meant, "Take a seat". Hurriedly I sank onto the carved wooden chair, hands in lap, chin raised to level my eyes. The food was so tantalizing, though…and it would be the first real meal in days. Then the Lord spoke.

"Sarelaine, I trust you have enjoyed yourself in the castle thus far?"

I nodded mutely in response, not daring to trust my own voice. Melodious some had called it, but it had a tendency to shut down under pressure. An inclination of the head would suffice.

He seemed amused but continued in the same treacherously condescending tone. "Then for an undetermined period of time, you shall remain here and familiarize yourself with bow, knife, sword, hand, music, etiquette, medicine…" And on and on he listed the crafts I was to learn, until I cut in softly.

"I know archery, fighting, swordsmanship, music, and nearly everything you have listed." For it was true; living with the nobles entailed a careful study of many arts. I had not forgotten any of them, or so I felt, when I had left to the wood elves, and time was wasted. Or perhaps time did not pass for such a brilliant, powerful man like it did for the rest of us.

He sighed softly and let a bony hand fall from his chin to the table. "Alas, I was afraid of this," murmured the man in a sad voice. "I was afraid that you were not of the correct mindset to undertake this endeavor. Sarelaine, look at me."

Grudgingly I raised my eyes to meet his, shaded and cold as they were. Instead of the warm gray that could have been expected, they glimmered with a calculating light. Instead of pushing outsiders away, however, they drew others into the dark recesses.

"Better, better. I see more clearly now, I see that a fire of ambition and restlessness burns deep within you, fighting to be released. I see how you hope to be another face, and yet, at the same time, standing starkly in contrast with the world, white on black. And I see you are gray, neither white, nor black, and you are ready to serve. Is not all that true?"

"Yes." It was all I could manage to utter the single word, my face flushed slightly in awe and shame. How terrible it was to have the secrets of one's heart laid out upon a dish with the same coolness and impartiality that had built towers and killed men. All he said was true, except the last phrase. I was not ready to give anyone everything, but somehow it seemed stupid to respond otherwise. Tact was helpful at times, despite my constant reluctance to follow the rules.

"Then," he set down the goblet of wine, which clinked softly on the table, "let your new life begin tomorrow." 

My fate was sealed, so to speak.

* * * * *

At dawn, I awoke not to the sound of chirping birds, as was customary, but to the harsh scraping clang of a bell. I sat up slowly and began dressing in the loose, full breeches and forest green shirt that I had worn for the time that I traveled dirt paths. The mirror caught the reflection of the silver wires around my neck, a memoir and symbol of my woodland brethren. But now they were gone, and so was I.

Breakfast was a simple process, and immediately following were private lessons in the lute, medicine, and various other scholarly arts. Master Shadowman, I soon realized, was a good deal more relaxed than he had let on at first. Indeed, he appeared to be more afraid of the Lord than careful of myself, and I was sure that if it weren't for that fear, he would never have spared the time nor allowed me to peruse the libraries alone. There were books of all manners, but most involved complex and ancient magic dating back to before the Third Age. I could understand none of it, yet the words, when read out loud, held a curious ring and attraction. They _wanted _to be heard and needed to be revealed, but it was dangerous as well. Quickly I decided to focus on healing lore and the herbs that could kill and revive, depending on the quantity and age.

Books and learning were fascinating me again, especially those which were mysterious and tempting to the eye. No doubt some were not meant for me to see, but the reasoning held that if it were so, I would not have been allowed to enter those sections of the library. So I read and read, awed eyes poring over thin, yellowed parchment and faded spidery handwriting, until at last, I found the tomes of histories long passed.

Then Master Shadowman ushered me outside hastily and gave the command, "Run." 

So I ran. I ran as far away from the black tower until an invisible wall sent me falling to the mossy ground, at which time I began running back and realized that I was trapped. The only directions to run in were forward and backward, and I chose forward. 

The rhythm of soft springy footsteps echoed in my ears for a few minutes afterward, and I struggled to regain control of my breathing. Running was no great challenge…or at least a mile or two wasn't. But constant motion where the scenery had no discernable change was maddening; I saw no evidence that I had been moving forward at all until Master Shadowman suddenly appeared and halted me with a wave of a black-sleeved arm.

"Fire at the wreath." 

He handed me a bow made of the finest wood in Lothlorien and strung with a flaxen hair. I hefted it for a weight and felt nothing. A Lothlorien bow was light as the cloud cover in autumn. Then I bent it carefully and felt no resistance, but upon release, the curve shot back into its original position sharply. The wood was flexible, yet strong, and it was a weapon suited for kings and queens.

A confident smile flitted on my face and immediately vanished when I took note of the target, a pine wreath with the diameter of a hand-span hanging on a wooden peg 100 paces away. Only one archer I had ever met before could hit such an object with any reliability, and he had died by his own craft, such was the irony. 

My hands blanched, if that was even possible, as I fitted an arrow, long and balanced, to the string and narrowed my eyes in concentration. When the line between bow and center had been fixed, I released the tension and let fly. The bow hummed softly while the arrow sang through the air, taking a slightly curved path off the one I had intended. My hopes fell; it was not possible for it to land anywhere near the center of the target now.

And then the arrow struck the great trunk with a splintering crack of wood, and I ran over to inspect its position. I gasped in genuine surprise. It had fallen just inside the pine needles, far from the exact center, but inside the confines of the target. Turning to Master Shadowman, I tried to subdue jubilation into humbled pride. 

He glanced at it indifferently. 

"Again."

AN: After saying I wouldn't be back…here I am! Seeing Return of the King was definitely inspiring, and while this chapter isn't wonderful by any means, it had some thought behind it. So review away, and the next one will come sooner…

L8er,

-cybErdrAgOn


	5. Chapter Four: Journey

Chapter Four: Journey

The months flew by in a whirlwind of days and nights, light and dark, until one day was indistinguishable from the previous and the next. Each morning I rose at dawn to begin training; each night I collapsed into bed in preparation for the morning yet to come. So time dripped by the black tower. Before the very end of the second year, I was summoned to the heights of the tower where I had first met the Lord.

I glided in with the same Elven grace as the initial meeting, but wisdom grows on young Elves. I sank to a knee, the white skirts falling around my feet, and murmured, "My Lord."

He raised a bony hand with white claw fingers outstretched and brought me to my feet. For a moment, we locked eyes, neither daring to move or breathe. Finally he lifted my chin and smiled like a hunting tiger ready to pounce.

"Yes, Sarelaine, this is the end. It is the end of our lengthy union. And are you not joyous that the day has come when I have one final command that stands between your current status and absolute freedom?"

My throat constricted slightly, for I was afraid that his words were false. But when he rubbed his hands together impatiently, I replied, "I shall be pleased to live for myself once more, but sorry that I shall be leaving you, my Lord."

A low, harsh chuckle sounded from his lips and became a cold laugh. "Excellent," he clicked his teeth together. "Then you shall."

"Sarelaine, do you know what drew me to you, rather than the Elven maidens who were more beautiful, intelligent, or courageous?" he asked thoughtfully, brows knitting together over his forehead. Without waiting for a response, he continued, "It was those eyes, girl, green and cold and smooth as a mirror of jade. They draw humans closer with their impassivity and icy elegance, and then—" A hand shot out with an immeasurable swiftness, then slowly drifted back to his side. "Then, they keep them near enough to strike."

"My Lord—"

He ignored my weak protests and spoke again. "Your task is as follows: to track the movements of the armies of Gondor; to create a written account of your journeys that can be referred to, should there be a need; and finally…to kill the king Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elessar, the one who wields the Sword that was Broken, and who is wed to Lady Arwen Evenstar."

It was a nearly impossible task for anyone, the final part, since kings surrounded themselves with soldiers, advisors, and many other men of power. Unless I could find him alone, I did not stand a chance. And Aragorn of Arathorn would never be alone, for he was not stupid to believe that he could defeat an enemy that attacked en masse with only his sword flashing in the light. He would be a difficult opponent, even if I remembered all the skills I had learned over the years.

Of course, I stood no chance against him. I don't believe anyone today would deny that, and certainly, I did not fool myself with the mere dream that there was a possibility of my success. I opened my hand carefully and examined each of the tiny scars criss-crossed, which made me an experienced warrior maiden. Then I drew my sleeves farther up and saw the clean, white forearm unmarred by warfare. In all of its purity and delicate beauty, it condemned me to death. 

A death for glory was not the same as a death for freedom. But which would I find myself lying at the feet of? Was it to be my own choice, or that of my Lord?

There are so many questions, but so few answers. Or perhaps they simply do not wish to make themselves known to me.

* * * * * 

Only one hour had passed before I stood outside the tower, wrapped in a green-gray cloak and waiting for a horse. He had been generous enough to provide for one, as I had arrived by stepping with one foot before the other. Master Shadowman appeared presently with a white mare, and loosely roped to her side were a longbow and many of the supplies that I would need should something run amiss. But I doubted that I could not find enough to live upon on the trail.

He inclined his head humbly and passed me the reins, along with a whispered, "Good luck, my Lady." It was troubling how aloof, hard Shadowman behaved like a fawning servant now, so I nodded and smiled demurely in return. Then, springing up onto the smooth, firm back of the mare, I nudged it forward and it whinnied softly before tossing its proud head and settling into a steady trot. 

She was a beauty, even to one who has seen many horses come and go. Her coat glistened in the morning sunlight, and waves of silky mane flowed down her neck. No common barnyard horse was she, neither she was a warhorse of Rohan—the small but regal head and build suggested a palfrey crossed with a desert stallion. But no matter her heritage, there was a certain amount of pride to be had owning or traveling with her. But no, such a horse could not be owned, and I felt lucky to be accepted.

Together we disappeared into the thick brambles. For the first time, they gave way at the touch instead of forming an invisible shield around the black tower. A great weight lifted off my shoulders, and I am sure that Ailwing, my steed, experienced the same. 

We were alone and crowded, all at once, and it sent a shiver up my back. The very trees—sighing, crying in the wind—whispered to one another of my coming, their sacred pathways undoubtedly violated by hoof prints. Timeless and unyielding, I had heard stories of shepherds of the trees, _Ents_, that ruled their domains and protected them against humans and Elves alike with their hard, living-wood arms and legs. They were slow to act, so the old stories said, but once awakened, Lady, _they were unstoppable_. Almost unconsciously, I bowed my head in reverence to these greatest of woodland beings, whether they were present or not.

An entire row of trees bent their leafy boughs, sashaying to the final chords of the wind. Another followed, until a wave had rippled through the entire forest. Then the way before me closed into impenetrable undergrowth.

_They were awake_.

I stifled a gasp. It was all about maintaining the cool, observant manner that propelled me through life—the life that was sure to exist after one simple task. So I dismounted and stripped Ailwing of her saddle and bridle, leaving only a halter and the few supplies I truly needed. The rest? An offering to the woods.

Opening a canteen, I poured half of its contents over the small pile of food, leather, and woods on the trail and clasped my hands. As the vines teased my hair (dreadful nuisance, really) and a lone skylark trilled a melancholy note over head, I made sacrifice to the Guardians.

_May the gods bless your souls. May the Havens grant you entry after their passings. _

_When slighted, may they avenge you with weapons and wizardry alike, and may your lives be long and your sufferings short._

_The sun shines brightly upon your leaves of green. May you find warmth and light as such._

_May it be so._

AN: What do you think? This story and this chapter, in particular, have been extremely difficult to write, which is why I've been neglecting it for so long. Review please, and flames are welcome as always.


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